Original Sin
by reader13lovesbooks
Summary: AU. Maysilee Donner knows Haymitch Abernathy before their Hunger Games, and the world meets the Star-Crossed Lovers twenty-four years early. The performance remains the same, but the fall-out is vastly different. Standalone prequel to The Sweetest Mockery.
1. Lust

**A oneshot turned multishot (so, a normal fic) written for vampluver19, who was one of the winners for my oneshot drawing over at The Sweetest Mockery. This story is a prequel for The Sweetest Mockery but can stand alone; of course, I highly encourage any new readers to give The Sweetest Mockery a try!**

* * *

 **Lust**

"Why, that no-good Jon Everdeen! I'm gonna—I'm gonna— _oooooh!_ " Rose's face is bright red as she glares at her beau, who just stole a kiss as he ran past her in the schoolyard.

"I don't think anyone noticed," Maysilee tries to soothe her. "He ran by so fast, _I_ almost didn't catch it, and I'm standing right next to you."

Rose takes a breath, her face slowly returning to its normal complexion. "Oh, May, I can't even be that mad at him. I _want_ to be able to hold his hand in public and go out on a proper date for once. But…" Her voice trails off, but she needn't say any more. Maysilee knows that it's fear of Rose's parents finding out about her secret relationship with a boy from the Seam that's forced the two of them to be discreet. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner are extremely vocal about their disdain for those not from the town.

"If only we could all be as lucky as Marj," Maysilee murmurs. Marjorie, her twin, has the fortune of being in love with—and loved in return by—Basil Undersee, of whom their parents thoroughly approve. Good boy, good family, good prospects, what is there not to like?

Rose perks up at that comment. "'We'? May, is there something you're not telling me?"

Now it's Maysilee's turn for her cheeks to flush crimson. "No, that—that was a generic, sympathetic 'we.'"

"Mm-hmm…"

"Hey, look, your boyfriend's stripping."

" _What?_ "

It's a particularly hot May day. The Seam boys who have been kicking around a worn, old soccer ball have opted to shuck their modesty and their shirts amid the heat. Jon Everdeen drops his pullover on the ground, winks saucily at Rose, and lunges into the fray, shouting, "Pass it here, Haymitch!"

Maysilee's breath catches in her throat, and her palms, dry a second ago, grow sweaty. Unbidden, her gaze falls upon Jon's friend as he deftly kicks the ball over. Haymitch has preceded Jon in shedding unnecessary layers, unabashed about the vast expanse of sweat-glistening skin on display. Unlike the town boys, with their paleness and soft bellies, and the other Seam boys, with their skeletal frames and hollows, Haymitch is sun-kissed and swarthy, tall and strong, broad-shouldered and solid. His, Jon's, and Dell Hawthorne's bodies are all the proof one would need of their hunting expeditions beyond the fence. Although still on the underfed side, the boys—and their families—are clearly not on the brink of starvation. And you don't get lean muscles like theirs without hard work.

Those muscles of Haymitch's flex and ripple as he fights with someone over the ball. Haymitch emerges victorious, and with uncanny speed he weaves through the other team and _fires_ the ball into the makeshift goal. His side cheers, and Jon and Dell high-five him just as the warning bell for the end of lunch rings. The players scatter, scooping up their shirts from the ground.

As Jon chats with Haymitch, he looks over again at Rose and smiles. Haymitch follows his friend's gaze and nods at Rose. Then his eyes flick over toward Maysilee.

She waves tentatively.

He nods at her too.

Her heart plummets a little.

As Haymitch jogs off in search of his girlfriend, though, Maysilee can't help watching him go. The heat of the day has suddenly become unbearable; she ignores the longing seeping through her veins. Rose tells her she looks particularly flushed, asks her if she's all right, and Maysilee brushes off her concern. _It's just the heat._

But after school, in the cool library (the school library, which is really the town library, which isn't really a library at all but a dusty room sparse with books that almost no one has touched in the last century), she doesn't have that excuse anymore. Maysilee is in her little corner by the window, paging through old plays and songs and poems, when all of a sudden she's no longer alone.

"So that's where all those books have gone."

Maysilee feels that electrifying shiver that's been showing up lately every time she hears Haymitch's gravelly voice. She hides it well and only looks up to see where _he's_ looking: her little stash of her favorite books, hidden in the hollow compartment beneath the bottom shelf. "Is there a problem?" she asks sweetly.

"Stealing library books, Donner? For shame."

"It's not stealing if they've never left the library," she retorts, replacing the shelf so that the compartment is out of sight once more. "Besides, it's not like anyone else ever comes in here."

Haymitch gestures at himself, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, did you want to be put in the compartment too? I don't know if you'll fit."

Despite himself, Haymitch chuckles. And then he joins her in her corner, cracking open his own reading material. Inches away from her. Maysilee can see the dark lashes framing his gray eyes, every snarl in his unkempt curls, illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the window, and she feels the urge to bury her fingers in those twisted locks, dragging his head closer—

She inhales sharply.

"You all right, Maysilee?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just—a little cramp in my leg, that's all." Maysilee resolutely focuses her gaze on her book. But even though she's no longer looking at him, she can still _smell_ him. There's the dried sweat from the game at lunch, not as unpleasant as one would think. There's his unique, underlying 'Haymitch' scent, of pine and soap and something musky and dark that makes heat pool in her stomach. And, strangely, there's something more floral—

 _Girlfriend. He has a girlfriend._

The reminder makes her feel as if she's been doused in icy water. She shoves her book back into the secret compartment and stands up, making her excuses, before hurrying out of the library. She doesn't look back, but she can feel those gray eyes watching her go.

That night, Maysilee stares up at the ceiling as Marjorie sleeps soundly beside her. Her mind is too full of a boy who shines in the sun, a boy who smells like the woods she's never been in, a boy whose very voice makes her tremble to the core. God, she doesn't even _like_ Haymitch that much! He's rude, sarcastic, arrogant, holier-than-thou—

She feels overly warm again, and she casts off the covers with a quiet groan. Maysilee turns her head to look at Marj, whose dreams are probably sweet and wholesome, filled with Basil Undersee, who acts like a gentleman and as if Marj is a princess.

 _If only we could all be as lucky._

* * *

 **The next installment should hopefully be up before long. Reviews are very very very much appreciated! I always respond to comments, and if you get a review in soon-ish, I might send you a tiny snippet preview of the next chapter! (It'd have to be very tiny, though, since these chapters aren't anywhere near as long as The Sweetest Mockery's chapters.)**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	2. Gluttony

**Thanks so much to RandommmFanatic, Ro-Le** **e, and** **bL00D pRINC3SS for their reviews!**

* * *

 **Gluttony**

Even if she and Haymitch weren't pulling off their star-crossed lovers ruse, Maysilee believes she would still have chosen him as her ally. He's deviously clever, he has hunting experience, he's fast, he's strong…

He's home.

 _He's home,_ she thinks as they run away from the Cornucopia, away from the other tributes who have just shaken off the enchantment of the arena and are now massacring one another, as she reaches out and takes her hand in his.

 _He's home,_ she thinks as she bandages his hand after an encounter with some carnivorous squirrels, and she presses her lips to the gauze covering his palm.

 _He's home,_ she thinks as it rains, and he laughs almost deliriously at the sight of clean water, fresh water, safe water, and in this arena of false paradise, he's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen, and she stretches up on her toes to kiss him for the first time.

She doesn't even have to remind herself of the cameras, waiting, watching for the town girl and the Seam boy to seize the chance to finally express their forbidden love. She doesn't care how the Capitolites choose to interpret their words and actions. Let them think what they will of her smiles, as she giggles at his jokes and quips and can almost imagine Jon and Dell, Marj and Rose, laughing uproariously alongside them. Let them think what they will of her kisses, as she desperately tries to drink in the taste of home in the only way she knows how. Let them think what they will of her tears, as they walk away from each other at the edge of the arena, and she dreads the cold nights that lie ahead—however many are left for her—and being alone for the first time since they were deposited in this godforsaken arena, and losing the last piece of home.

Maysilee feels his absence almost instantly. A shudder tears through her body, and she sinks to her knees. This simple act, being overcome by emotion, saves her life, as a candy pink bird with a razor-sharp beak swoops down and pierces the space where her head just was.

She sees the swarm of nauseatingly pink feathers coming for her. Maysilee shields her head, curls into a ball, and as the first beaks begin to slice her skin, she screams. " _HAYMITCH!_ "

Is it their cutting beaks that will kill her first, or suffocating on the feathers smothering her face? She can't move, can't give them an opening to her throat or vital organs, but she's going to die if she stays here.

" _HAYMITCH!_ "

She thinks she hears her name as blood drips down her face. But she doesn't believe it until the birds shriek and scatter, fleeing from the flaming torch they made the other night, the torch that Haymitch is swinging at the fuchsia vultures. The last of the birds disappears from view, but Maysilee doesn't move. She can't move. Her muscles are frozen, her bones are stone, her body refuses to obey. It isn't until Haymitch gently peels her fingers away from their protective brace around her head and clutches her to him that life returns to her limbs, and she reaches toward him. Tears fall silently from her wide eyes, her chest heaves, and her whole body trembles like leaves in the wind as Haymitch carries her away.

It feels like hours before she finally speaks; perhaps it was hours. When her hoarse voice finally sounds, she mumbles, "We can't split up again. We can't. We can't. We can't."

And his voice, hoarse as well, murmurs, "We won't split up again. We won't. We won't. We won't."

Haymitch is fixing her wounds as best he can when the announcement sounds throughout the arena. _Two Victors,_ they promise. _Two can go home if they're from the same District. Two can go home if they're the last ones standing._

Maysilee should know better than to believe the Capitol's glittery words and saccharine promises. But she wants to go home, and she wants Haymitch to come with her. They have been through hell on Earth together, and there's no way she'll make it out of the arena sane without him. Call her needy, call her desperate, call her clingy, but she isn't leaving this place without Haymitch Abernathy at her side.

He takes her hand and looks her in the eyes, his gaze dark. "We're going home," he vows.

She clasps his hand back. "We're going home," she agrees. _We. We. We._

That night she has nightmares of bloodthirsty birds the color of cotton candy. Haymitch is there when she surges awake, quickly shushing her before she can accidentally give away their location and pulling her close again. Her shaky fingers clench and twist the front of his shirt. Breathing in his scent and feeling his warmth has an almost magical calming effect, and she just wants to stay there forever and ever, drinking in Haymitch Abernathy for the rest of her life, however long that'll be. If this is the closest thing to love she will ever get, then she will take it wholeheartedly, unabashedly, shamelessly.

 _No him. No me. Just we. We, we, we._

Their lovers' respite doesn't last for long. All too soon it's down to the final four, and they're facing off with the two Careers remaining from District 1, who found them where they were hiding at the edge of the arena. The girl accidentally sends her ax flying over the cliff, and Maysilee kicks the boy's sword over as well. The boy laughs triumphantly anyway and advances, intent on finishing her off with his bare hands.

Maysilee ducks.

He doesn't.

The sword flies into his belly, and the girl has only a second to realize what's happened before her ax finds a new home in her skull. _Boom, boom,_ the cannons sound.

A third one lies in wait for Haymitch, whose guts are a slippery mess outside of his body. Maysilee chokes down a sob as she kneels beside him, wishing Rose and her healing knowledge were here, wishing they were home, wishing the damn hovercraft would show up already and fix him.

 _Just kidding,_ they say. _Only one can win._

"M-Maysilee," Haymitch rasps, as the light begins to fade from his once-bright eyes. "I… I…"

Her bloody hand cups his cheek. "We can't split up again," she whispers. "We won't split up again."

 _No him. No me. Just we._

Maysilee picks up the knife he dropped.

His eyes widen. "Maysilee, no—don't—"

Crimson. Crimson all over her wrists. Maysilee sees a hovercraft racing towards them as her vision fades to black.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Like last time, if you review on this chapter, I'll send you a very very short snippet of the next installment. :)**


	3. Sloth

**Thanks so much to Ro-Lee, Randommmfanatic, and my guest reviewer!**

* * *

 **Sloth**

The skin of her wrists is smooth and milky white, as if she'd never slashed a dagger through them. The Capitol's doctors are excellent at their trade, reviving dead men walking and disguising the fact that any injuries ever occurred.

Maysilee would have preferred the scars.

She woke along in the Capitol. Twelve's mentor Alasdar was the first person she saw, a strange and unnerving man who hadn't been much of a mentor at all, but he at least told her that Haymitch was alive and warned her to keep up the star-crossed lovers' act before a nurse bustled in with some light fare. Although she was no longer in the arena, Maysilee was still in survivor mode then, and surviving meant putting on a smile and hearts for eyes and nothing less than utter happiness when she and Haymitch had the grand, publicized, onstage reunion.

It isn't until they board the train and pull away from the Capitol, heading for home, that Maysilee drops the mask, shattering it on the ground. She turns to Haymitch, relieved they no longer have to pretend that they've forgotten the horrors of the arena, that they're naive as to what will happen to them next, that they haven't been smashed into a million pieces.

He drops her hand gracelessly and makes a beeline for the bar.

 _Ah._

Maysilee stands alone there for a moment. She glances over at the table laden with mouthwatering delicacies. Her stomach roils, and she pads silently over to a window seat instead. There, she wraps her arms around her knees and stares, unseeing, out at the blurred landscape.

Dinner is served. Haymitch remains at the bar, cleaning out bottle after bottle. Maysilee stays curled up on the leather bench. Only Alasdar sits at the dining table, half-heartedly poking at his pasta before wandering back into his room.

The ghosts of Sorrel and Donall, the other two tributes from Twelve, starved children from the Seam, linger over the abandoned food.

That night, Maysilee tiptoes to Haymitch's door and knocks. No answer. Hesitantly, she tries to doorknob. Locked. "Haymitch?" she calls out softly.

Silence.

If she screams bloody murder, like she did in the arena, would he come running for her? But she isn't cruel enough, crazy enough, desperate enough to do that to him. Instead, she returns silently to her room and curls into a fetal position on her bed, where she lies awake for the whole night.

Maysilee pastes on a beatific enough smile when they arrive in Twelve, posturing for the cameras. Haymitch holds her hand again, a grin on his lips, but his eyes are dead. Then her sister and Rose and her parents whisk her away. Maysilee has a house now in the Victors' Village, but her family has chosen to remain in their old home in town until Maysilee decides otherwise. The bright colors of the candy shop hurt her eyes, and the smell of chocolate and caramel and sugar remind her of Capitol decadence. When it becomes clear that Maysilee isn't interested in answering their questions or eating her favorite foods that they've set before her, her parents exchange worried looks, and Marj and Rose whisper to each other.

When it's time to go to bed, Maysilee wordlessly drops a pillow and a blanket on the floor before curling up in her nest. Marj watches her with concern, but her gentle prodding elicits no answers. Maysilee presses her face to the pillow and inhales the familiar scent of laundry soap and cedar. She would rather have a boy who smells of the forest.

She is left to her own devices for the most part, but she notices every effort they make to coax her out of her malaise. Marj often plinks along on the piano, while Maysilee's old cello is left conspicuously out; she never goes for the bait. Rose asks her once if she'd like to join her and Jon on an adventure past the fence, but Maysilee shudders at the idea—she's had far too much adventure for one lifetime already—and Rose never brings it up again. Her parents ask if she would be interested in helping to watch the store, and her lack of response is an answer itself.

Then one day Maysilee hears the word 'Haymitch,' and it's like color has come flooding back into a world of black and white. "Haymitch?"

Rose and Marj's jaws drop simultaneously. Rose collects herself first. "Um, yeah. Jon says he's worried about him. He hasn't been that great since you guys came back."

"Maybe it would help if you two talked to each other?" Marj suggests.

Maysilee blinks slowly. She looks between their hopeful faces, and she sees the bags under their eyes, the lines of exhaustion and worry. She clenches her fists—oh, when did her nails get so long?—and kicks herself mentally. This is her fault.

 _Haymitch._

"Okay," she mutters.

Rose practically runs out the door then and there in search of Jon. Marj pulls her to the piano corner, urging her to play a duet. Maysilee shakes her head, but she listens—really listens—as Marj plays.

When Rose finally returns, she has a troubled expression on her face. Maysilee's stomach lurches.

"What happened?" Marj asks quietly.

"It might be better if I told you later—"

"No." Maysilee stares at her friend. "Tell me everything."

Rose glances anxiously, sorrowfully at her. "Jon and I went to Haymitch's house," she begins haltingly. "His… His girlfriend answered the door." Maysilee's nails dig into her palms. "While we were talking, Haymitch came over. He didn't—didn't look good. And he said...he said...that he's not interested in talking." Rose gulps. "To you."

Maysilee blinks at her once. Twice. At first, she feels...nothing. Empty. Hollow.

Then it all comes rushing at her: dark blue grief, scarlet anger, crimson pain, violet regret. And there's someone sobbing, and Marj and Rose surrounding her with sympathetic words and hugs, and everything _hurts._

Eventually her weeping quiets down, and the only noises left are the chirping of her pet songbird, poor, neglected Orpheus. Maysilee gazes as the canary flutters about in his cage, as if trying to get out. Poor Orpheus. She would set him free right now, but he wouldn't survive a day in the wild. He's better off in his cage.

As for herself… She is no coddled songbird. She knows the world now, and the horrible things in it. She could open her cage, right now, the cage that she put herself in, and step out.

 _There is no we. There's him, and there's me._

"I need to pack."

" _What?_ " Marj and Rose chorus incredulously.

"I have a house waiting for me in the Victors' Village. It's time I moved in. I think I earned it."

Moving into the Victors' Village will bring her close, far too close to Haymitch. But all the better for him to see how well she's moving on and _living._

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated, and I'll send you a very short snippet of the following chapter!**


	4. Envy

**Thanks so much to Randommmfanatic and my wonderful guest reviewers!**

* * *

 **Envy**

Life is good for a while after Maysilee moves into her pleasant blue house. Everyone worried when she announces she wanted to live there alone—"Not really alone, I'll have Orpheus"—but she gets her way. Marj and Rose visit her every day, and her parents almost as much, and she often returns to her old home for family dinners. Maysilee tries her hand at gardening but is terrible at it, so she decides to sprinkle a little money into District 12's economy and hire Hazelle, Dell Hawthorne's girlfriend, to plant flowers and vegetables and herbs for her.

She occasionally takes out the cello again, but its strings no longer sing for her like they did before...well, before. So into the attic it goes, where it slowly gathers dust. Usually she'll keep her hands busy by bustling around in her kitchen—her large, beautiful, fully furnished kitchen with the giant granite counter—and churning out casseroles or cakes or stews. Maysilee has never thought of herself as an expert in the culinary arts, but practice makes perfect, and soon most of her dishes guarantee rave reviews. And she always makes too much for herself—not that she worries about the expense, now that she's glutted on blood money—so she'll usually bring her products to the family dinners or give them away to her friends. She knows Jon and Dell appreciate them very much.

Those are her days. Her nights continue to be haunted, as she returns to the arena every time she lays her head on her pillow. On the nights she cannot bear them—poisoned darts in children's necks, swords in the bellies, candy-pink birds pecking her skin away—she slinks downstairs to make herself some tea or cocoa and drinks it in the living room, slowly, to prolong her return to bed. Often, on those nights, she will gaze out her window, and sometimes she will see a light on in Haymitch's house across the way. Perhaps he has nightmares too. Perhaps he also dreads the darkness, the loneliness. Perhaps he remains awake until he passes out from exhaustion.

That's what Maysilee imagines at first. Then one morning, when it's barely dawn and she gave up sleeping around three a.m., she sees Haymitch's girlfriend, Larkspur, trotting out of his house. Her clothes are the same as yesterday's.

A hot, unpleasant sensation flares in Maysilee's chest. _And while his mother and little brother are under the same roof!_ But she shakes her head. It's not her place to judge, and Haymitch has made it clear they're no longer part of each other's lives. He can do what he wants.

She soon finds out that, in fact, neither she nor Haymitch can do what they want.

President Snow disdainfully eyes his teacup, part of a set handcrafted by someone from the Seam, before sniffing and sipping. "Interesting." He replaces the cup on the saucer and steeples his fingers, cold gaze on Maysilee. "Miss Donner, I assume you know why I'm here."

"I've probably displeased you somehow," Maysilee answers with just a touch of impertinence.

"Yes, though more Haymitch than you." He picks up a pastry, examines it, and sets it back down on the dish. "Can we be frank with each other, Miss Donner?" She nods. "The only reason you both survived as Victors was because you were the star-crossed lovers. Now, you and I know that it wasn't entirely true, but most of the country thinks otherwise. The Victory Tour is coming up, and Panem expects to see the star-crossed lovers again."

"Haymitch and I can act for—"

"And again at next year's Games. And at the next Victory Tour when they stop at District 12. And the next Games. And so on. Eventually, the Capitol will want to see the...fruits of your romance."

Her stomach lurches.

"Haymitch's little paramour throws a wrench into the neat story we have going in with you two. I trust that you will fix that soon."

Maysilee grits her teeth. "That...is not up to me."

"I'm sure Haymitch will see the light when you remind him that I am a man best not displeased. And you are not as impotent in this endeavor as you claim, Miss Donner. Act or not, I can't imagine you're that pleased seeing, ah, Larkspur, gallivanting around with your Romeo. Embrace that jealousy. Inflame it. Let it fuel you."

Now that Snow approves of her envy, the green sensation makes her feel all the more nauseous every time she spots Larkspur coming to and from Haymitch's house. Now that Snow has voiced it, she can no longer deny the flames bursting whenever her treacherous mind wonders what Larkspur is up to in the new Abernathy residence. She hates herself for it.

She and Larkspur bump into each other in front of the bakery. Maysilee can smell cinnamon wafting out of the bag in the other girl's hand.

"Oh. Hello." Larkspur shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

Maysilee imagines this encounter must be as uncomfortable for Larkspur as it is for her. After all, Larkspur had to watch her boyfriend claim on TV to love another girl and cozy up to her before the cameras for several weeks. But Larkspur got him in the end. Again, Maysilee hates herself for thinking about it in terms of winners and losers, because Haymitch is a person, not a prize, and in this world there are no winners except the Capitol. "Hi, Larkspur." They only met once or twice in passing before the Games, usually in the company of others. Maysilee never had anything against her, but even back then she'd consciously turned her head away when Larkspur was with Haymitch. "Are you...busy today?"

"Um, yeah. I need to, um, drop off breakfast for Haymitch, and then I'm headed off to work." The bag crinkles in Larkspur's hand. "I'll, uh, see you around?"

"Yeah. See you around." Maysilee turns and marches into the bakery as Larkspur makes her escape. Farll Mellark grins upon seeing her and makes small talk as he boxes up her favorite strawberry shortcake. Farll's cakes are far better than any delicacy she had at the Capitol. _Give me a good cinnamon roll any day over this clafoo whatever shit,_ Haymitch said once on the train before the Games. Before they smashed the comfortable friendship they had and haphazardly reconstructed the pieces into a farce of a romance. Before they killed. Before they died, in spirit if not in body. Before they wrote the story line they would have to act out for the rest of their lives, for an audience who expected nothing less than a drama for the ages.

Maysilee is running, bakery box in her hands. She runs up the porch steps and bangs her free hand on the door.

"Fucking hell, Jon, I told you I don't want—" Haymitch throws open the door then stops and stares at her.

She lifts her chin and stares resolutely at him. "We need to talk."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! As usual, if you send me a review, I'll send you a short snippet of the next chapter!**


	5. Wrath

**Thank you so much to Ro-Lee, Randommmfanatic, and my guest reviewer!**

* * *

 **Wrath**

"No."

The kitchen table between her and Haymitch seems miles long. "You're joking."

"I'm serious. No." He grabs the nearest half-empty bottle and begins to chug.

"Snow himself came to warn me, Haymitch."

"Snow can go fuck himself. Look, sweetheart, I'm sorry that Snow decided to pick on you instead of me, but I'm done playing their games. We won, Maysilee. It's over."

She slams her hands on the table. "How can you be so stupid? It's not over. It'll _never_ be over. We gave them the star-crossed lovers, and we'll have to keep giving it to them for the rest of our lives."

"No offense, sweetheart," he drawls in a tone that tells her he definitely wants to offend her, "but didn't you come up with that brilliant plan in the first place? You started it, so it's up to you to fix it."

Maysilee clenches her jaw. "You didn't complain about the plan when it got us sponsors. When it got us out of the arena with our lives."

Haymitch scoffs. "Some life this is. If that's everything, sweetheart, you can show yourself out. I have a ten o'clock date with some sweet, sweet tequila."

She knows a lost cause when she sees it. Maysilee returns to her house and sinks onto the couch, head in her hands. _I tried,_ she thinks, as if Snow can hear her. Who knows? Maybe he can, thanks to some new invasive Capitol technology. _I tried. I did my best. Please._

Snow must have bugs in Haymitch's house—and her own, she's sure—because somehow, he does know exactly where to place the blame. Later that day, Larkspur is found dead on the path leading to the Victors' Village, a stab wound in her side. No witnesses. The Head Peacekeeper declares it a mugging gone wrong and makes a half-hearted search for the culprit before deeming it impossible.

Haymitch storms into her house, tear tracks and grief staining his face. "You told him, didn't you? You went and tattled to Snow."

"I didn't—"

"You little traitor. After all we've been through, you go and stab me in the back—"

Maysilee slaps him, hard. "Never," she says coldly, "call me a traitor again. And you're stupider than I thought if you don't realize that our houses are bugged. Now get out, clean yourself up, and go help Larkspur's family with the funeral. It's the very least you owe her after making her deal with you in this state for so long."

The people of District 12 are smart enough to know to keep quiet about Larkspur, if they value their lives. So when the Capitol's reporters and cameras swarm to the district for the Victory Tour, they never pick up on any story about Haymitch's secret girlfriend and her tragic death. But even their best makeup people and lighting tricks can't hide the toll that Haymitch's dependency on alcohol in the past half year have taken on him. At least his clear alcoholism provides a convenient excuse for why Haymitch isn't as cuddly with Maysilee as one might expect of the star-crossed lovers. Maysilee does her best to make up for Haymitch's lack of affection, and the Capitol is eager to continue to believe their fairy tale.

And Snow seems satisfied that Haymitch has learned his lesson, because Maysilee receives no more threatening messages or visits, and as far as she knows, neither does Haymitch. But Snow won't be satisfied forever, and his specter lingers in Maysilee's mind as she does her best to give Haymitch distance and time to grieve, while she anxiously eyes the days flying by. It might be selfish, but she doesn't want to be taught a 'lesson' as well.

Haymitch's mother isn't an idiot. Mrs. Abernathy knows there is ample foul play at work, and she seeks out Maysilee. "Haymitch isn't well," the older woman says gravely. "He's still angry about Larkspur. But I'm worried that in his anger, he'll put his brother in danger." Tavitch is several years younger than Haymitch, a wide-eyed boy whose cheeks became less gaunt and his limbs less skeletal after his older brother's prize money began to pour in.

Maysilee stews with discontent. Mrs. Abernathy and Tavitch don't deserve to suffer because Haymitch thinks he's somehow sticking it to Snow by continuing to rage about Larkspur, after even her family have ceased publicly mourning. But Maysilee's, Mrs. Abernathy's, even Jon and Dell's pleas for him to use his brain and think of his loved ones, Haymitch continues to remain deaf to any and all requests to do what Snow wants.

It comes as little surprise when Mrs. Abernathy and Tavith are found dead in Haymitch's big house—carbon monoxide poisoning, supposedly—but Maysilee weeps no less for the woman who just wanted her sons to be well and for the young boy who had done nothing wrong.

Also unsurprising is how Haymitch no longer has any desire to return to his house. Maysilee finds him slumped on her porch one evening, surrounded by several bottles that he likely emptied as he waited for her to return.

"What do I have to do?" he asks wearily.

Anger flares in her heart, but not at Haymitch. He has well and truly learned the lesson Snow wanted to beat into him. Never again will he allow his temper to place his loved ones in danger. No, her anger is for Snow and the Capitol. They broke this boy who is now a shadow of his once brilliant, arrogant, laughing, clever self. They broke this boy who once smelled of the forest but now smells of liquor. They broke this boy who saved her life in the arena.

Now she's going to save him. No, more than that: she's going to fix him.

Maysilee sits down beside him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, bonier than they used to be—he hasn't been eating well. After a moment, he leans into her. Another moment later, he's sobbing against her neck, begging for forgiveness from Larkspur, from Mrs. Abernathy, from Tavitch. All the while Maysilee holds him, murmuring empty words of comfort, stroking the messy curls on his head.

So broken, she thinks. She shudders to imagine what would have happened to him if he were alone and had no one to help him piece himself back together. _But he won't be alone._

 _I won't be alone._

And Maysilee knows that even though they're going to pick up the star-crossed lovers again, even though Snow is going to be pleased he seems to have cowed them both, he's going to regret the day he got the idea to teach a lesson or two. She doesn't know exactly how or when, but she's going to make the old man rue everything he's done to them. And Haymitch, if he's willing, will be right there beside her.

* * *

 **Thanks for sticking with me for yet another chapter! Reviews are love, and I'll send you a very short preview in exchange!**


	6. Greed

**Thanks so much to Sparky She-Demon, Ro-Lee, Randommmfanatic, iiMuffinsaur, and my lovely guest reviewer!**

* * *

 **Greed**

Haymitch is not a good housemate. He lets the laundry pile up, eats her food without replacing it—it's not like she can't afford it, but it's the principle of the thing—and, worst of all, leaves his glass bottles lying around everywhere. Whenever she requests that he not do any of the above, he grumbles a half-hearted assent and then proceeds to continue to act as before. But even at her most irritated and chagrined, Maysilee can't bring herself to kick him out. The only place he can go is a dusty house haunted by his family's ghosts.

Fixing people takes time, she reminds herself as she clears a table of beer bottles. And if she kicks him out, it'll be her who's ruining Snow's star-crossed lovers story, and she'll be the one learning a lesson next. No, what she wants is for the Haymitch before the games to be back, and she'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

She tells herself that every time she has to deal with a vomiting Haymitch, and she thinks Larkspur must have been a saint to have done this for all those months. Larkspur had a choice. She could've left Haymitch any time. But Maysilee is willing to sell her soul to the devil—a devil named Snow—if it means she and her family and friends are safe. And part of that contract is sticking with Haymitch.

It's just that it would be so much easier to fulfill it if she had the old Haymitch.

Maysilee places some books she knows he's read in front of him. "Do you remember these?"

He glances at them dismissively before resuming the titillating activity of staring at the ceiling as he lies on the sofa. "Children's stories."

"They're for adults."

"I mean they're full of happy endings and good conquering evil and people getting what they deserve. I can't stomach that bullshit anymore."

Another time, she drags him out to the fence, wheedling for him to show her the woods. He does so grudgingly. They don't stay out long. After months of doing nothing but sitting around and drowning his sorrows in a bottle, he lacks the energy to hike for long. They haven't even been out for half an hour when he sinks down beside a tree and refuses to move, until Maysilee agrees to turn back.

One night, she forces her to go with her to a Seam party. As a town girl, she's never been to one before, although Rose has gone once or twice with Jon and excitedly recounted the experiences to her. Haymitch was always present in Rose's stories, one moment dancing with Larkspur, one moment stealing a musician's instrument and playing it poorly, one moment telling some tall tale that gets everyone in the vicinity roaring with laughter.

On this evening, Haymitch sits in a corner by himself and sulks. Rose and Jon give her pitying, sympathetic looks.

Time passes all too quickly, and soon they have to return to the Capitol for the next Games. The two tributes are from the Seam, as is common, and thankfully neither of them is a twelve-year-old. But that doesn't make the pain any less as Maysilee watches them scarf down food on the train and comes to terms with the fact that they'll both be dead on the first day.

Alasdar didn't have to mentor this year, but he came with them anyway. Maysilee hasn't seen much of the recluse beyond occasionally passing by him in the Victors' Village or town. "If only we had more tributes like you," he laments. "I know you have strength just looking at you."

Not had. _Have._ Maysilee resolves herself to be strong for them both, if Haymitch cannot, once the predatory eyes of the Capitol fall upon them in full force.

Thankfully, unlike the Victory Tour, Haymitch is more aware of the need to act. He puts on quite the show for the public and the cameras, playing the gallant—albeit tipsy—lover. Alasdar watches disapprovingly but makes no comment.

Caesar Flickerman is eager to have the star-crossed lovers on his show, and he fawns over how lovely a couple they make. "You two are the same as ever."

Inexplicably, those words make something shift behind Haymitch's gray eyes.

"Caesar's wrong." They're sitting alone in the rooftop garden of this year's Tribute Center. He shreds up grass from the lawn. "We're not the same. I know it. You know it. But you've been trying to get me to be the same as before all this."

Maysilee bites her lip. "I just wanted the old you back."

"We can't always get what we want, sweetheart. That me is dead. Gone. He's not coming back."

She inhales sharply. "I refuse to believe that. You're still you, Haymitch. You're too—too—too _much_ for the Capitol to destroy you. I'm going to keep fighting for you, Haymitch. I won't give up."

"Well, that's rather selfish of you, isn't it? Maybe I don't want the old me to come back. He was made for another life that didn't involve the Games. Ever thought of that, sweetheart?"

Maysilee looked away, chagrined. She'd thought her efforts were helping him somehow, even if she never got a word of thanks. But it was all for nothing—

No. Not for nothing. When she put those books in front of him, she saw a short-lived spark of interest in his eyes. When she dragged him to the woods, she saw a fleeting expression of peace on his face. When she took him to the Seam party, she saw the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips for all of a second.

The old Haymitch isn't dead. He might not be burning anymore, but there's still an ember burning underneath. She just needs to fan that flame back to life, and if wanting to do that makes her selfish, then so be it.

As predicted, District 12's tributes die at the Cornucopia. There's no mentoring left, but they also can't go home early. Haymitch spends his days drinking and brooding, while Alasdar is off doing who knows what. Maysilee tends to finds herself socializing with other mentors, usually of other tributes who died early on.

One day, she finds herself speaking to Snow again.

"The public is delighted that their star-crossed lovers are still so in love. Living together is a little scandalous, but not unwelcome news." Snow strokes the petals of one of his roses. "Perhaps that charming house of yours will soon become a bit fuller."


	7. Pride

**Thank you to Sparky She-Demon, Ro-Lee, Randommmfanatic, and my guest reviewer. Sorry for not responding to anyone's reviews this time-not in the best place right now.**

* * *

 **Pride**

For once, Haymitch is stone cold sober. He has that much respect for her at least. And if either of them deserved to be drunk right now, it ought to be her. Maysilee plays with a loose thread on her nightgown, studiously ignoring Haymitch's shirtless state. They're perched on opposite ends of her bed, which she thought enormous when she first laid eyes on it, but now the distance doesn't seem anywhere large enough.

Maysilee thought they would have more time. She thought Snow's loaded comment meant he wanted her and Haymitch to continue working on their relationship, and if it got to the point of sex, great, and don't worry about contraceptives.

Not even a week after they returned from the Games, a baby rattle arrived in the mail.

Neither she nor Haymitch was happy about Snow's obvious message, but even though they were in agreement, that didn't stop them from fighting about it.

Finally, one of them—Maysilee isn't even sure which one—shouted, "It's just sex! Let's just get it over with."

And now here they are.

Maysilee clears her throat, a little longer than necessary. "You've...done this before, right?"

He nods jerkily.

"With Larkspur?"

"Yeah. And. Uh. Two others."

Her hands nervously twirl around her hair. "Okay. That's...good?" Maysilee had never even kissed anyone before Haymitch in the arena. She figures it's just as well at least one of them has some experience, lest it be even more uncomfortable than it already is.

"If you say so," he mutters.

Maysilee clasps her hands. "Well, we should probably just...get on with it. The sooner we start, the sooner we're done."

"Fuck it." Haymitch surges over the bed, grabs her shoulders, and kisses her hard.

She stills with shock, even as heat kindles inside her. Then forcefully—reluctantly—she pushes Haymitch away. "What are you doing? We're just—we're just doing it, nothing unnecessary—"

"Sweetheart, if we're going to have sex, it sure as hell isn't going to be clinical. If you can't accept that, I'm getting out of here. So what's it gonna be?"

Maysilee thinks about it for all of five seconds. Then she clasps her hands behind Haymitch's neck and pulls him in.

The next few months are surprisingly idyllic. Haymitch seems to have something against having sex inebriated, so he's drinking more in moderation. And the sex is...good. Very good. It doesn't take long for their friends to realize what's changed between them, and they become the butt of many jokes and teasing insinuations. In the fall, Maysilee discovers she's pregnant.

In the fall, Haymitch swiftly returns to his former habits.

Soon all of District 12 seems to know that Maysilee is expecting, and they seem to know that the second she was, Haymitch resumed drinking himself to death. The pitying looks grow the more her belly protrudes, and the more she increases, the more Haymitch drowns himself in his bottles, as if he won't be able to see her rapidly changing size that way. Her parents have never been that fond of Haymitch; now they positively dislike him, as he does nothing to help her during her pregnancy.

"And all that alcohol around your house?" her mother exclaims. "I know _you_ aren't drinking it, but still. He should know better. He should _do_ better."

But Maysilee endures, as she always does. She ignores the looks of pity, she ignores Haymitch's descent into self-destruction, she ignores her parents' complaints. Instead, she focuses on books about childcare and looks up healthy recipes and goes shopping with Rose and Marj for baby furniture and clothes. They try to make everything as gender neutral as possible before they found out whether it's a boy or a girl.

It turns out it's both. She's having twins. And that revelation is what finally makes her crack, what finally breaks the dam holding back her emotions, what causes her to choke out horrible, ugly sobs as Rose and Marj try to comfort her.

She's on the cusp of eighteen, she's taking care of an alcoholic, she's playing one of the main roles in the world's biggest joke of a romance, she's going to be a mother, she's going to be having not one but two babies— _two,_ that means twice of everything, twice the tears and feedings and diapers, twice the stress—and for all that she lives with Haymitch, she's alone.

Sometimes, she still finds herself wishing she'd died in the arena.

Maysilee cries herself to sleep that night. It's a good, deep sleep, and she thinks that must be the reason she wakes up feeling refreshed and clear-minded. She opens the window in her room and lets the morning sun warm her face. No, there's no point wishing she were dead, that something else happened to change the past. The facts stand:

She is Maysilee Donner.

She is a Victor.

She survived the Capitol.

She is going to be a mother.

That last fact sinks in, and all of her plans and priorities shift to revolve around it. In a few months, two helpless infants are going to enter the world, and she is going to be responsible for them. She'll have her friends and family as support, but ultimately it will be up to her and her alone to care for them. From now on, her children come first, before anything else.

Before anyone else.

One day when Haymitch is out, Maysilee meets with Rose, Marj, Jon, and Dell. They gravely listen to her intentions, they argue, they debate, and finally they agree with her. They'll help her with her plan, but—Jon and Dell insist—she has to give Haymitch one last chance.

"Don't you think," she asks Haymitch one evening, "you could try to stop drinking so much? If not for me, then for the children."

His response is an unintelligible mumble and another swig from his bottle.

Jon and Dell are resigned.

Haymitch is at the Hob when Maysilee goes into labor. Rose asks her if she wants Jon to get him. Maysilee declines. The labor isn't as long as she feared it would be, especially considering she's giving birth to not one but two. By sundown, she's holding her son and daughter in her arms.

A song comes to her mind, an old one that she discovered in a forgotten library book. _Even your light dies when it rains, and ash is all that still remains._ It's a love song, and a very sad one at that, but it's not like real life has happy endings either. "Ash and Rain," she whispers to her children. And then, because she can't bear to completely plagiarize their names, she amends, "Ashton and Lorraine."

Her parents have come and gone to see their new grandchildren. Rain and Marj are sitting inside with her when Haymitch finally comes stumbling back. Jon and Dell are on the porch waiting for him, and the girls can hear their conversation.

Haymitch wants to come in.

Jon and Dell refuse.

Haymitch wants to see his children.

Jon and Dell refuse.

Haymitch curses them and tries to barrel past them. Jon and Dell easily block him, drunk and swaying as he is, and as they're dragging him away—Jon has offered to keep him in his home in the Seam for as long as need be—Haymitch shouts for her. " _Maysilee!_ "

She shudders, and Ash whines as he's jostled.

" _Maysilee, please! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ —"

She thinks back to the arena, when candy-pink birds attacked her and she screamed, screamed, screamed for Haymitch. He saved her. But she can't save him this time. She can't save him anymore. Not until he gets better—if he gets better—and proves that he deserves to be in their children's lives.

Maysilee gently rocks Ash and hums soothingly, while on the inside she's shattering into a million pieces.

* * *

 **Worry not, there is an epilogue coming!**


	8. Absolution

**Thank you so much to Ro-Lee, Randommmfanatic, vampluver19, iiMuffinsaur, and my guest reviewer! Welcome to the final installment of Original Sin.**

* * *

 **Absolution**

Ash smiles his first real smile today. Rain, never one to let her brother outdo her in anything, quickly follows suit. Maysilee is lucky to have her camera—a gift from her parents when the twins were born—on hand. She manages to capture the moment before the twins fall back into their default squabbling, as much as three-month-olds can squabble.

The camera churns out the photo, and Maysilee waves it dry before adding it to the baby album. Every single milestone, however small, has been carefully documented. She knows she'll appreciate looking back on it years down the road when Ash and Rain are older.

Their father will possibly appreciate it even more, not having been present himself for those milestones.

She hasn't seen Haymitch since she glimpsed him out the window when the twins were born, as Jon and Dell hauled him away. They regularly bring her news about him, and it's usually news that makes hope swell in her chest. After a week of self-pity and trying to die of alcohol poisoning, Haymitch shook himself awake, told Ripper—the woman at the Hob who provides spirits—not to sell him anything ever again, and went back to Jon and Dell for help.

"He's had his relapses," Jon told her once. "But he's trying. He's really trying. I swear half the Seam is in on it. When he gets desperate, there always seems to be someone around to stop him from doing something stupid. They all want him to get better. They all want him back. They're all rooting for him."

Soon after that, Maysilee orders dozens of loaves of bread from Farll Mellark, and Jon and Dell hand them out in the Seam.

Farll is one of the few people in town who are rooting for Haymitch. Most people, Maysilee's parents included, seem to believe that he's in too deep to be able to get out of the hole of his own making. Whenever she brings out the twins for a walk, there's always one of her old town friends around to coo over them while telling her to forget about Haymitch.

If he weren't trying, she would do it. She would do her best to forget him. But he is trying, so she won't give up on him either. Ash and Rain don't deserve an alcoholic father, but they do deserve _a_ father, and Maysilee hopes they can still have one. On the nightstand next to the twins' crib, she keeps a small framed photo of Haymitch. She cut it out from a Capitol magazine from right before their Games. In that photo he's still proud, wonderfully snarky, and whole. She shows it to the twins every night—"Say goodnight to Daddy," and they'll babble incoherently—but one day, one day soon, she wants to be able to replace it with the real thing.

That day creeps up on her unexpectedly. She's taken the twins to the yard to enjoy the pleasant October afternoon, and Ash and Rain are fascinated by the bright red and gold leaves on the grass around them. Ash picks one up, inadvertently crumpling it in his pudgy hand, and holds it up to her. Maysilee thanks him graciously and picks him up to blow raspberries in his stomach as he squeals.

Rain makes a curious sound, and Maysilee turns around, Ash still dangling from her hands. Haymitch is standing on the walkway, uncertain and hopeful and afraid and anxious.

She blinks. "Haymitch. You… You look well." It's the truth. He's a little thin, but by no means underfed. His face is no longer bloated from drink, his eyes no longer red, and the bags beneath them are mostly gone.

"So do you," he says quietly.

Maysilee takes a breath. " _Are_ you well?"

He hesitates, then nods. "I think so."

They continue staring at each other. Maysilee's mind is numb, unable to tell her what to say or do next. Fortunately, Rain intervenes, grabbing the hem of her pants and making nonsensical baby noises.

Maysilee shakes off her stupefied haze. "Well, get over here, Haymitch, and meet your son and daughter already."

She doesn't have to tell him twice.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this prequel to The Sweetest Mockery. :)**


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